


Cranberry Vodka Shots

by CeleryLapel



Series: Poor Judgment [1]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7169813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeleryLapel/pseuds/CeleryLapel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Britta and Duncan spend Thanksgiving together</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cranberry Vodka Shots

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during Chapter 21 of “Everything is Better, Part Two.” Timeline: Season 2, Thanksgiving (Fall, 2010).
> 
> *Can be read as a stand-alone piece if you’re not following the larger story.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.” Duncan looked up from his pint of beer as he sat at the bar in The Ballroom.

Britta plopped her bag down on the bar and then shoved her way onto a stool at Duncan’s side.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me.” Her tone was flat and non-committal. She began to scan the room.

“Should I be? You seem to be showing up in all the places where I am.”

Britta narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s totally not true. The last time I saw you, I was in the library. Being _studious_ I might add. And _then_ you showed up.”

Duncan coughed, and a pinkness began to form over his cheeks.   He sat back and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small cloth. “If you must know, I was there to chat with Mariah.”

“Mariah?”

He took off his glasses and began polishing them, looking at his work intently as he replied, “The librarian. I needed to locate some journals for my research paper.”

Britta rolled her eyes. “The redhead?”

“Red-ish, I suppose. I was thinking more of a burnt sienna.”

“Isn’t that a crayon?” She kicked the bar with one of her combat-boot laden feet.

“What?”

“Never mind.” Britta turned and signaled the bartender.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He gingerly placed his glasses back on his face and stuffed the cloth in his pocket.

Britta scowled. “Since when in _hell_ do you _you_ get to tell me where I should be? I come here all the time.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought The Ballroom was Britta Perry’s scene. I would have thought more of a hipster bar.”

She bit her lip in effort as she attempted to unstick a zipper on her bag. Keeping her attentions on this project she commented, “I’m not a hipster.”

Duncan’s eyes twinkled as he took a sip of his beer. “This place is fairly divey. One might call it a nasty little place.”

“Nasty?” She frowned as she gave a satisfying tug on the zipper, freeing it.

“It’s in a bad part of town, too. You might need to be escorted when you leave here.”

She turned to look at him, raising her eyebrows while suppressing a grin. “I might.”

“I didn’t mean…”

\--“Didn’t you?” Her expression turned to stone.

“Of course not.” Duncan grabbed a bar napkin and dabbed his brow.

Britta nodded thoughtfully as she kept her eyes on him, watching him place the napkin back on the bar. “Don’t you prefer the Dirty Cowgirl?”

“How do you know about that?”

Britta mumbled an order to the bartender before turning back to Duncan with a smirk. “Jeff took me there last spring. He said you introduced him to that fine establishment. Why am I not surprised?”

Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Jeffrey took you there?” He lowered his voice slightly,  “Like on a _date_?”

She swatted the air as she wrinkled her nose. “Ugh! Date? No! We were just killing time from Greendale.”

“I see.”

The bartender returned with two red shots. Britta thanked her and pushed one toward Duncan.

He scrunched up his face. “What the fuck is this?”

She stifled a laugh as she replied, “It’s a cranberry vodka shot. They’re on two-for-one special.”

“Oh please, Perry. I only consume the finest of liquors.”

She stared him down for a moment before calmly stating, “Shut up. We both know that’s not true.”

Duncan tossed back the shot as he replied, “I don’t know what you mean. Just because you accosted me in my office, doesn’t mean you know what I usually drink.”

Britta smirked again as she eyed the empty shot glass. She took her shot.

“I didn’t _accost_ you. I stopped by to ask a psychology question, and you were drinking.” She snapped her fingers at the bartender and held up two fingers.

“Whatever. I have your flannel.”

“Should I come by to get it?”

“What? No! _Noooooooo.”_

“Does Tuesday work for you? I have a lame Anthropology class which ends around noon. I can ditch lunch with my study group to come by.”

Duncan wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

He gulped before he stated, “You know that would not be proper. I’m your instructor. And I was your therapist.”

Britta scoffed and shook her head. “Not really. You’re my replacement anthro professor and you don’t even know what you’re doing so that hardly counts. And you _counseled_ me for less than a semester. And it was _Greendale counseling_. I hardly told you all my deepest, darkest secrets.” She moved her eyes to the side as she added, “And you’re not a very good therapist.”

Duncan moved back on his stool and stabbed the air with his index finger. “You can’t just leave flannel in my office! You can’t just keep taking off your clothes!” His voice rose slightly at the end of his last statement.

Britta looked quickly back and forth in the bar as she lowered her voice, “I _didn’t_. It was hot in there. Your radiator was broken, which doesn’t surprise me at Greendale. And I kept the rest of my clothes on, like my tank top. I was hardly _naked.”_

Duncan’s voice cracked as he asked in a quieter tone, “Why do you keep saying _naked_?”

“I said it once.”

He whimpered, “Oh.”

She tilted her head to the side and studied his glasses.

Duncan pulled at his collar. “Are you enjoying this? Are you enjoying torturing me?”

“Torturing you? How do you figure I’m doing that?”

“Stopping by my office, asking psychology questions, saying you want me to mentor you, that you want to major in psychology…”

\--“That’s what students are supposed to do, ask for advice.” She shrugged, keeping her eyes on his eyeglass frames.

\--“Saying _oh my it’s so hot in here_? _Whatever shall I do_? And then throwing your flannel on the floor.” He waved his arms around frantically before he hunched over the bar, placing his forehead in contact with the wood.

She shrugged. “It was warm.”

He mumbled, “And then sitting there and attempting to use your pencil like that.”

“Like what?”

He sat up and gasped. “While I’d hardly call it a successful endeavor, I’m fairly certain that was an attempt to seduce me. But FYI, one does not _bite_ a pencil when one is trying to be alluring. It was awkward as hell.”

Britta placed her elbow on the bar and cradled her head on her hand. “See that’s really interesting. I would never do something like that. I don’t believe in giving men sexy images like that. I should be good enough on my own, goddammit…”

\--“Sexy images? My word, Perry, did you not hear what I just said, it was awkward. You were _biting. Aggressively._ ”

She rolled her eyes. “I was _thinking._ And if you read into any of that then whose fault is that? Oh my god, you are _disgusting_.”

Duncan leaned back and squinted at her. “Are we being _serious_?”

“And if you were that put off by it then I don’t know why you are all freaked out around me, thinking I’m going to _seduce_ you.”

He slowly shook his head. “I said you were _trying_ to seduce me, not that you would be successful. I have ethics.”

“Sure you do.” She pushed a red shot glass toward him.

“I do.”

“Than why are you trying so hard to get away from me?”

He took a deep breath before he responded, “Ethics, my dear.”

“So you want to?”

“That’s beside the point.”

She shrugged. “Interesting. I never would have pegged you my type initially, but heck, you’re kind of cute in a squishy way.”

“Squishy?”

“And you have that adorable accent.”

“Adorable?”

“And those sweater vests. With the little tie. My, my.”

Duncan squinted his eyes for a moment and then appeared to startle in realization.

He lowered his voice, “Stop mocking me.”

“You’re a dweeb. You’re not my type. I was being _sarcastic_.”

Duncan nodded slowly as he pursed his lips.

“So friends?” She raised her glass in the air.

Duncan stared at her before he let out a low laugh.

“Yes, of course.” He clicked her glass with his own.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Professor Duncan.” She tossed back her shot.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Perry.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. I mean what the fuck happened to _boundaries_ anyway?”

“Where did you get your glasses?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what this was.


End file.
